Live to Die Another Day
by Supernatural-flavored-lollipop
Summary: Imagine you and Sam are on a hunt, dealing with some personal issues, when disaster threatens to ruin everything. (Request)


Live to Die Another Day

*Fanfiction Request for Bitchfacedmoose*

It had been a long day, and it looked like it was going to be an even longer night. You'd shown up at this creepy old house this morning, after learning about the three bodies found here the previous week. All teenagers, all stabbed to death. You had been here, poking around to no avail all damned day, when you heard tires crunching outside. You deftly pressed yourself against the wall, peering to your side out the window. A familiar black Impala had pulled up outside. You let out a long sigh. The Winchesters.

It wasn't that you disliked the brothers. Quite the opposite- they had come in handy quite a few times in the past when your paths had crossed. In fact, over the last few years, it seemed you'd made a sort of habit out of saving each others asses. But you didn't expect them to show up today, of all days. You'd been on the road for three days, you looked like hell, and you weren't in the mood for company. Even Sam Winchesters company, which you admitted you'd freely enjoyed on multiple occasions.

You stalked down the winding staircase, and threw the front door open. Both brothers were startled, and hastily threw up their shotguns and aimed them at the now open door. Squinting, Sam lowered his, recognition slowly registering in his eyes.

"Now now, boys, that's no way to greet an old friend." You sauntered out onto the sagging wrap-around porch. Dean lowered his gun as well.

"Y/N." Sam murmured. You nodded at him. "It's been a while."

"Yes. It has." It _had_ been a while. Six months at least, and a few even since you'd lost contact. You'd wondered why he'd stopped texting, but contact was always shoddy with the burner phones you hunters were always carrying and discarding.

A wide smile spread across Dean's face. "Good to see ya!" He approached you, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up in a warm hug. "Gorgeous as always!"

"Ugh, Dean. Seriously. I have three-days-on-the-road-hair. Don't even start." You grimaced, pulling your hair back into a haphazard ponytail, and glancing at Sam. As far as you knew, Dean _didn't_ know about any of yours and Sam's trysts. Sam was looking a little jealous of Dean's forwardness. You shrugged. This was _always_ how Dean was. Dean knew there wasn't a chance in hell he was gonna sweet talk you into anything. "So what brings you boys out here?" You asked, winking at Sam and turning your attention back to the elder brother.

"Same as you, I'd assume. Three teenagers ganked in a creepy old mansion." Dean scratched his head and looked up at the house in the dying sunlight. "How long you been here?" He moved into the foyer, and you and Sam followed.

"All damned day. I've found nothing. Except a few nasty bloodstains from the world's most unfortunate teenagers. I was going to check out county records tomorrow."

"Already done." Sam finally stepped forward and stopped being so stand-offish. "The house is currently owned by the Barker family... of whom the last remaining relative is 96 and lives in a nursing home in Connecticut." He paused, running a hand through his long hair, brushing it back from his face. You smiled. You missed that face. He glanced at you, cleared his throat, and continued reading from a file on his cell phone. "This place has been considered "haunted" since a triple murder took place in 1937. Michelle Bates and her two children, Anne and Tommy, were stabbed to death in the attic. Nobody was ever tried for the crimes."

"Vengeful spirit." Dean said bluntly. "Piece of cake. Probably not the kids- my money is on the mom."

You nodded slowly. "That makes sense. If she was murdered by an intruder, she'd attack strangers who come gallivanting around the mansion at night. I know I would." You swung your shotgun up over your shoulder. "Any idea where this chick is buried?"

Sam shook his head. "Didn't look yet. Should be easy enough to find out."

Dean stepped back out on the porch. "No sense staying in this shithole, then. Let's go burn a body and get a drink." He took a few more steps. You and Sam started to follow when the front door slammed shut.

"What the fuck?" You grabbed the knob and tried opening it. It was stuck. "Oh no." You should have seen this coming. This kind of shit was always happening.

"Shit. This is _not_ good." Sam groaned.

Dean was pounding on the door now, trying to bust it down. Sam yelled through it to him. "Dude, it's no use. The ghost sealed the house off!" You immediately turned the opposite way, pressing your back up against Sam's, bringing your shotgun down and readying it for use. You looked around the darkening front room. So far, you saw nothing.

Dean's voice came through the door. "I'll go find where the bitch is buried and torch her. You guys, stay alive." You heard his footsteps retreat quickly, across the porch, across the gravel, and a car engine roared away.

Sam and you were now alone, in a huge old house, in the dark, with a murderous spirit who had already killed three people. Flashlights clicked on. You were nothing if not prepared, and so was Sam. You'd both been doing this a while.

"Well, it's good to see you again." Sam said, his back still pressed against yours. You were both circling, keeping an eye out on all corners of the room.

"You, too. Circumstances could be better though." You replied.

Sam chuckled as the two of you moved on from the foyer into the large living room. "Circumstances could _always_ be better. Do we _ever_ meet during good ones?"

You pulled a container of salt out of your messenger bag. "No not really." With Sam keeping watch, you stooped and sealed off the doors and windows with lines of salt. "They usually end all right, though." You stood up, turned to him, and smiled, raising an eyebrow.

Now that the room was relatively safe, he seemed to relax and lowered his shotgun. "That's true." You could see him half smile in the dim cast-off from your flashlight.

"I haven't heard from you in a while." You stowed the salt canister back in your bag, and stood looking at him.

"Yeah. We had to ditch our last phones really fast. And a lot's been going on. With Dean... it's a long story. I meant to try to find you. I just... lost track." He sounded exhausted, and frankly, full of excuses.

Your heart had sunk a little, but outwardly you showed no signs. You shrugged. "Eh, shit happens. It was always just a little fun after a hunt, right?"

Sam paused for a long while. "I guess so." He replied, sounding unsure. He didn't have time to go into detail, though, because the silence was interrupted by an intense screaming. It seemed to be coming from all around you, and all at once, every door to the room (barring the outside doors) flew open and all of the salt lines blew away.

"Shit!" You both said in unison. Shotguns were brought back up at the ready, and you were once again back to back. Still, you saw nothing.

"What the hell is she waiting for?" You asked. Then your flashlights started to flicker.

Sam let out a loud groan. He shook his flashlight, but of course that did nothing. Both of them clicked off at once. "Well that's great." He said under his breath. He reached a hand back towards you, and laced his fingers through yours. "Stay close." He breathed at you.

You nodded. You had goosebumps, and you weren't sure if they were from the sudden coldness of the room, or from Sam's touch. "Okay."

Something streaked past you in the dark. You let go of Sam's hand, aimed, and shot at it. In the split second flash of light that accompanied the gunshot, you saw her. She was dressed all in grey, her dress bloodstained, hair matted. Her eyes were just dark hollows. The rock salt hit her square in the chest as she was reaching for you. As soon as Sam heard the gunshot, he spun around, throwing you behind him. "Where is she?"

"I got her." You breathed out raggedly. "For now."

"Are you alright?" He asked, concern in his voice.

"I'm fine." You said. "Though I could ask you the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"You're being really weird."

"Yeah. Like I said, it's been a really rough few months. I'll tell you about it when we get out of here." Sam's voice sounded thick with emotion. You felt bad for implying that he was just a booty call earlier. Was it possible he'd been honest from the get-go?

You had no time to think about it. A wailing sound came at you two from across the room again, and this time, Sam aimed and fired at her. He hit her, and it was silent again. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Dean. You find her grave yet?" He paused, then put it on speaker phone.

"I found the cemetery, yeah. But this section has no friggin markers. I have no idea which one is hers."

"Find a map online. Use it like a grid." Sam told him.

"Thank you, Einstein. I'm doing that right now." Dean replied glibly.

"Well hurry up. Salt isn't keeping this bitch away, and neither of us has that many rounds with us." You called over your shoulder, into the phone.

"Calm down, princess. I'll get it done. Hold the front lines." Dean clicked the phone off.

"No grave markers?" You sighed. "That's inconvenient."

"Yeah, just a little." Sam let out a deep, pent up breathe, and I could feel him shake his head. "We're gonna be here a while. I have five shots left. You?"

"Um... three."

"We'd better find some iron. Did you see a fireplace when we came in here?"

You nodded. "It's... to our left. My left. Your right." You felt Sam move away from you, and heard him searching in the dark. He came back a minute later and pressed something into your hand.

"It's a fireplace poker. Iron, hopefully."

"Thanks." You grasped it, readying yourself for another attack.

You both heard the screaming starting again, from far off in the house this time. It got closer quickly, but seemed to be all around. You'd both spread out far enough to be sure you wouldn't hit _each other_ with the fireplace tools. Your eyes were adjusting to the dark. You barely made out her shape as she came at you. You swung, but it was too early, you missed. She was on you, throwing you back against the wall with such force, the breath was knocked out of you. You fell in a pile on the floor, and she turned to go after Sam. He was already on her, taking a swing and she howled and disappeared. He ran over to you, gripping you under your arms and lifting you to your feet.

"I'm good, I'm good." You shook it off.

"Are you sure?" He asked. He still hadn't taken his arms away from you.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." You stepped back.

"What was that?" Sam turned quickly, putting an arm in front of you.

"What was what?" You asked.

"That noise." He whispered. You heard a rustling. It was in the far corner, getting closer.

"It's her." You whispered back, gripping your shotgun. "It's her dress sweeping on the floor." You both looked around, but couldn't see her. The rustling kept getting closer though. Then you heard a sound that made your skin crawl. You heard a faint giggle.

"Oh my God. Is she laughing?" Sam asked.

"I think so." You told him.

"I have a_ really_ bad feeling about this." He said. "Listen, Y/N, get behind me. Get in the corner-" Suddenly Sam was hurled against the wall, with a force so strong, you heard the wall crack, and hoped to God none of his bones were cracking as well.

"Sam?" You whispered into the darkness. "Sam?!"

"Yeah." You heard him grunt, heard him getting up. Then you heard a shotgun blast, and in the flash of light you saw her, throwing him across the room again. This time you heard the distinct sound of his head hitting the wall. You grimaced. Who _was_ this bitch and why was she so strong?

It didn't matter. You were sick of her bullshit, and Dean should be torching her any minute now. You made your way quickly over to where Sam lay motionless on the floor. You felt around on his head. The back was slick with blood, but he was breathing. He began to come to. You didn't have any time to see how he was doing, though, because you heard it again. The rustling, and the giggling. Getting closer.

You thought you saw her. You fired your shotgun, but missed. You fired again. You still heard her, laughing, low and melodic, almost like a song. Suddenly, she was in front of you, her hollow eyes staring straight into yours. You braced yourself, gripping the fireplace poker to swing, when you felt something penetrate your chest, just under the right shoulder. You sucked in a breath, and watched in slow motion as the ghost smiled at you. A horrible smile full of rotten teeth. She pulled the knife back out of your chest, and you felt your blood begin to spill down the front of your shirt. She raised the knife to strike again.

The fireplace poker was ripped out of your hand. Sam was on his feet now. He was in a fit of rage. You'd never seen him so angry. Roaring, he slammed the poker down through the ghost. As he did so, she seemed to catch fire. A scream rose in her throat, and she went up in flames. The poker fell to the floor.

You looked down at your chest, at the mass of blood staining the front of your shirt. You reached up a hand and pressed your palm against it as best you could, while falling to your knees. You didn't fall far. Sam grabbed you before you hit the floor. His hand covered yours, pressing firmly.

"Hey, hey, Y/N. Stay with me." He spoke to you calmly, but you could see how frantic he was. You could see it in his eyes.

"She got me." You looked absently around the room. "I'm better than that."

"Shhh. Shhh. You'll be okay. It's not your heart." He pressed harder. You winced. It hurt, so badly. Nothing had ever hurt this badly before.

You gasped, and started to cough. Blood was coming up out of your throat. "My lung." You choked out.

Sam knew what to do. He pulled out his phone, dialed 911, and layed you on the ground. "This is gonna hurt." He told you. You nodded. You knew. He pressed down as hard as he could on your wound, to keep the blood in, and excess air out. If he didn't keep it covered, every time you breathed in, air would get sucked inside the wound, and without a means of escape, it would fill up your chest cavity and press on your heart. He kept firm pressure on it. You began to cry.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry." He smoothed the hair away from your face. "Just hang on."

You tried, you really tried. But everything was going black, and you couldn't stop it. You were losing too much blood.

You faintly became aware of a beeping. A really annoying, incessant beeping. It was awful, and it pulled you out of the fog really quickly.

You took a deep breath. Pain hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes flew open. You were in a white room. _Oh God, am I dead?_ You asked yourself. You quickly had your answer. No, you weren't dead.

Your vision came into focus, and you saw Sam's face peering at you. He looked really worried. He was pretty much beat to shit, and looked like he hadn't slept in days. When he saw you focus on him, he let out a pent up breath.

"Y/N." He said, reaching up and smoothing your hair away from your forehead. "Thank God."

"I'm not dead?" You shook off a bout of dizziness, but quickly stopped moving. Every part of your body hurt something fierce.

Sam smiled. "No." He shook his head, sliding his hand down your arm and taking your hand. "You've been out for a couple of days. You had a collapsed lung. The medics stabilized you and they took you right into surgery when we got to the hospital."

"Have you been here the whole time?" I asked, eyeing him. He nodded. "Have you slept?" He shook his head no. He looked sheepish.

"Damn it, Sam. You look like shit. You need to take care of yourself." You closed your eyes for a second.

"I couldn't sleep. I had to be here when you woke up."

"Oh? And why is that?" You asked, a tad more tartly than you'd planned.

Sam was silent for a while. So long, that you finally opened your eyes. You peered over at him. He still had your hand, and was looking down at it like it was going to start doing magic tricks. He turned to you. "Because I wasn't there for you before, when I should have been. The last few months. I had to be here for you now."

"Sam." You squeezed his hand. "I already told you, it's not a big deal. You had your stuff to deal with. You and I... we meet up once in a while. That's all it is to you, and that's fine."

He shook his head. "That's _not_ all it is to me." He gripped your hand tighter, and leaned closer. "This life we live, it's hard. And we aren't together all the time. But honest to God, Y/N, you mean a hell of a lot more to me than just hooking up every once in a while after a hunt. A whole lot more, and it's time I started acting like it. And I'm so sorry I was an asshole and didn't let you know that earlier."

You looked at Sam. Really looked at him. You'd always had a soft spot for Sam Winchester. His looks, his smarts, his unassuming charm. The way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when you were in his arms. If he was telling you that he had genuine feelings for you, well, hell, you'd take it. Happily.

You smiled up at him. "Sam, I know I'm gross and probably look like shit and have been passed out for two days... but I might just need some convincing. You need to get your ass over here and kiss me."

A slow smile spread over his face. "_I'm_ gross, beat to hell, and have been hanging out in a hospital for two days, waiting for the damned chance to kiss you." He leaned over the bed railing, delicately placing his lips on yours. He kissed you tenderly, as if afraid he'd hurt you. You ran a hand through his hair, pulling him closer.

A sound in the hallway made you both pause.

"What the hell?!" You heard Dean whisper to himself from the doorway. Your eyes connected with Sam's and you both smiled. Guess you had some explaining to do now.


End file.
